Breath of Dawn, The (41 page)

Markham paced the kitchen, his attention snagging on the gun he’d taken from Quinn. His lip peeled up. Had she intended to use it? Of course she had. He could still see the fight in her eyes. She had not admitted defeat, had not felt the helplessness he wanted her to know all the way to her bones.

Would she have shot him? Could she have? He glowered at the gun, jerking with memories. Another dark-haired woman.

Shots. The body falling. The blood.
“You saw nothing, kid. Got it?”
The stench of his cousin’s breath and her blood had stayed in his nose for years, dulling the flavor and aroma of food, of flowers and fresh air. It had made him throw up at night, and the smell of that joined with the rest.

Quinn had carried a gun. He’d taken it, but even now she was plotting against him. He knew her. She wouldn’t stop unless he made her feel powerless, helpless, hopeless.

He turned on the crackling flooring and started back the other way. What would it take? He could defile her.

Something stirred like shadows shifting.

He’d said it himself. An inciting incident. Chaos. Defeat.
Make her
.
Break her
.

He turned back toward the cabinet, stared through the broken glass like a toothy maw. He could drug her, incapacitate and force her.

It stirred again. Swirling darkness. An acid flashback? A trick of the senses.

He paced the other way, brooding. She had to pay—not only in money, but in fear and humiliation. He wanted her powerless, hopeless. And he could do it. He felt a surge inside, recalling what he’d seen on her face when she talked to the man who spirited her away.
Break her, take her, break her.

Then he remembered Hannah. Even if he could violate Quinn with Hannah looking on, he would not do anything to diminish himself in her eyes. It stunned and touched him that she still believed. And he vowed as long as she did, she would live.

He stopped pacing. His mind cleared. Hurting Quinn must wait. It was time to implement the plan.

Cabbing to Oyster Bay for dinner with William, Morgan could no longer pretend he wasn’t afraid. With no answer from Erin, he tried calling Rudy again—and got him. “Rudy!” he all but cried.

“Morgan, you sly married dog.”

In no mood, he snapped, “Rudy, is Erin with you?”

“Who?”

“Erin. Quinn. My wife.” He white-knuckled the phone. “Is she with you?”

The limo sedan smelled of something Eastern eaten for dinner, but the back seat smelled of fear.

“No. I haven’t seen her since fishing this morning.”

His heart made a slow thud. “Did she say where she was going? What she was doing?”

“Something about Vera’s daughter and her dad.”

Except she wasn’t with RaeAnne. They’d spoken but weren’t together. Neither had seen her since the morning. “Rudy, can you do something for me?”

“Wh—”

“Wait a minute.” His call waiting beeped. He looked at the caller and switched. “Erin, thank God.”

“Who?”

It wasn’t the question that chilled him. It was the voice. Markham Wilder’s voice saying, “Who’s Erin?”

Cold adrenaline shut the panic off like a faucet. Every part of him went still. Markham using Erin’s phone meant one thing. Jaw clenched, he said, “If you touch my wife, I’ll hunt you down and kill you.”

The driver flicked a glance in the mirror.

“Given that I have the blade at her throat, you’re in no position
to make threats.” Markham’s tone set his teeth on edge. “Tell him, Quinn.”

He heard a sucked-in cry.

“Hear that? Just a little prick with the blade.”

He had never known if he could kill, whether some barrier would prevent him. Now he knew. But sinking to Markham’s level would cancel his advantage. “What do you want?”

Another soft whimper went straight to his heart. Erin would be fighting the sounds with all she had, furious and humiliated. He heard sobbing, but it wasn’t Erin, at least not as he’d ever heard her. “I said what do you want?”

With a voice like the devil, Markham rasped, “I want her to suffer.”

The pit of his stomach liquefied.

“To know what it’s like having someone else in total control. To know I can hurt her. I can kill her.”

Desolation opened like a chasm, but he slammed it shut with the force of his will. “What will that get you?”

“Satisfaction.”

“Then what? Back to prison?”

After a pause, Markham laughed. When he spoke again it was a different person. “Have a better offer? What’s your wife worth to you . . . ? Oh, wait. It’s wife and kid, isn’t it?”

Morgan flinched. “Name your price.”

“What fun is that? Let’s bargain. What will you give for one prime, pregnant woman—a twofer.”

Another sound from Erin shot all sorts of images to his brain, but he let Markham keep talking.

“What is it, a million-dollar baby?”

“If you say so.” The man wanted power.

“So Quinn must be worth two. That’s three million if you can’t do the math. A full return on my investment.”

“Take the blade away from her or you don’t get a cent.”

Markham laughed as if they were two frat boys being cool and getting wasted. “You still think you have power here. You’re used to that, I know. But the truth is”—the other voice came back—“you
have no idea what I’m doing to her, what I’m going to do in the time it takes you to get the money into my hands.”

He was not playing this sick game. “This is the way it’s going to work. You want the money, I’ll get it. If I find . . . Quinn completely untouched, you’ll get transportation. A private jet to take you anywhere you choose.” He could almost hear Markham salivating.

“How do I know it’s not a trick?”

“We’ll drive to the airport together. There’s a small one not far from Juniper Falls.”

The silence stretched.

“I’ll have two million in hundred-dollar bills with me. The third on the jet waiting to take you out of there.”

Breathing heavily, as though fighting a great resistance, Markham spoke in a strangled voice. “It’s a deal.”

“Where’s my wife?”

“Old dark hole in the ground. No sniper windows. New bolt on the door, and I hold the key.”

The cellar.

“I took the precaution of stocking it with propane tanks. Besides the blade, I have a gun—your wife’s to be precise. You bring law enforcement, we’ll have fireworks.”

He closed his eyes. “I want to talk to her.”

“You got your proof of life. You have until noon tomorrow to get the money here. Or the deal’s off.”

“That’s not enough time.” He didn’t have that kind of cash readily available. Liquefying assets, converting and transporting the money would take much longer.

“Noon tomorrow.” The line went dead.

His chin fell to his chest.

But then Rudy’s voice came on. “Morgan? What’s going on?”

He quelled the panic rising. “The guy who chased Erin has her.”

“Markham Wilder?”

“I think he’s keeping her in the asylum cellar at Vera’s.”

“I’ll get the sheriff.”

“No. He’s rigged the place with propane.”

Rudy swore.

“I need to be there by noon tomorrow with ransom money.
Can you watch the house without being seen and let me know if anything changes?”

“You know I can,” Rudy said. “What if he takes her somewhere else?”

“In a perfect world, you’d follow.”

“My world’s pretty perfect.”

Morgan swallowed. “Thanks.”

The limo pulled into William’s compound. Entering without knocking, he found William in his library.

William tipped his head up, all joviality fading.

Morgan said, “The Satan-spawn has Erin.”

Giddy, Markham released Quinn’s hair and drew his blade away. He was going to get more than he’d dreamed when this was done—a miracle of multiplication, just like his vision. He pulled a paper and pencil from his pocket. “Write it all down. Everything to access the account you funded.”

With a shaky hand, she did.

“I will check it upstairs and know if one digit is wrong.” He had no way to verify it, but she didn’t know that.

“It’s not. That’s everything you need to get the money. Please let us go.”

“You weren’t listening. That’s only half of what’s coming.”

Looking into her face, he felt a burn in his gut as it slowly sank in he’d been outmaneuvered. Morgan’s offer had surprised and dazzled him. The cash
and
transportation. A jet to take him anywhere.

And all he had to do was leave Quinn unharmed. That was the razor in the apple.

She wasn’t weeping like Hannah, afraid of the dark. She looked at him with judgment and loathing. He’d heard her cry when he pricked her with the blade, yet she still glared back. Maybe he should take Hannah out and leave Quinn in the cellar alone, but then he’d have to deal with Hannah.

He had to think. There had to be a way to have it all. He’d rigged the cellar with propane tanks as a deterrent. He didn’t need
to blow it up. And now Morgan was doubling the take—more money than he’d ever make in scams. If he killed Quinn, he’d have to kill Morgan.

Then he’d lose the jet and a chance for freedom he’d never experienced. The black knight had guarded his queen admirably. But it twisted the worm inside.

Markham stared into the darkness past the illumination of the lantern. What was that shifting and stirring?
Kill her, kill them, kill her anyway.

He’d exterminated his cousins and left the world a better place. Could he say the same about Quinn? What did it matter if he left her alive? He clenched his hands, resisting. He wanted the jet to take him away. So Quinn would live. But he could still make her suffer.

“By the way.” He fixed her with a stare. “Your grandfather sends his regards.”

He saw her stiffen.

“Or would, I’m sure, if he could.”

Chest heaving, her voice came in breathy bursts. “What did you do?”

“Nothing that old degenerate didn’t deserve.”

“Markham?” Hannah blinked, and for the first time he saw doubt and accusation.

“He was bound for hell, Hannah. Your father said so himself. Only Quinn, here, held out hope and affection. Pity.” He blinked. “Your last conversation provided the cover and distraction this ‘rotted soul’ needed to get close.”

She pressed her hand to her mouth, tears swarming her eyes.

“Never fear, Quinn.” He raised her chin with the flat of the blade. “He’ll be in hell to greet you.”

She slumped in the dark, head in hands when the door closed. Hannah whimpered but didn’t ask for a light. No cruelty Markham could inflict compared to knowing she’d gotten Pops killed. Agonizing guilt drained her will to fight. Somewhere in her mind, she knew Morgan was coming, but this sorrow would not end.

“Stop it,” Hannah said.

“Stop what?” she barely answered.

“Whispering. Stop whispering about me.”

Through her fuzzy head, thoughts flickered.

“Don’t.” Hannah’s voice cracked. “Don’t say that.”

“I’m not talking, Hannah. Whatever you hear it’s not me.”

“It is. You hate me.”

“I don’t hate you.” Tears clogged her throat. “But Pops is dead. And we’re responsible.”

“No.” Hannah clamped her hands to her head, the chain jangling. “Stop it.”