False Pretenses (31 page)

“I have some very nice potassium chloride here, Harley. I'm going to inject it in Elizabeth's IV. See, I've already stuck the needle back in her arm. Only about forty cc's, that's all it'll take. Unfortunately, she'll die very quickly, not what I had intended, no, not at all. You know, don't you, that her IV is a glucose solution. I stick this stuff in, and her heart will start beating irregularly, then very fast. Probably she'll wake up with a tightening in her chest, then she'll die in just a matter of seconds. Too bad. Do you want to watch me do it?”

Elizabeth stirred, mumbling something.

“You're not going to do anything, Hunter. In fact, you're going to hang it up. Either that or I'm going to kill you. And I won't have to go to South America.”

“Then I think I'll shove this gun into your mouth and pull the trigger, Harley. I guess you recognize it, don't you? It's your twenty-two automatic, you know. Oh, yeah, I knew it was in the desk in your cabin. I had no trouble at all getting it.”

“Jonathan.”

Both men froze at the sound of Elizabeth's voice. Soft, slurred, helpless.

“You'll die with the stitches still in your damned face.”

“Jonathan, where am I? Jonathan?”

“Shush, love. Everything is fine, just fine.”

“Like hell it is,” Christian said in a loud voice. “Wake up, Elizabeth. I want you to know that you're going to die. Wake up, damn you!”

Elizabeth opened her eyes.

“God, no. You can't be here. You're dead, dead . . .”

“No, but you soon will be.”

“I pushed you overboard. I saw you go under.”

“I'm an excellent swimmer, but you've already guessed that. No, Harley, don't move. I'm tired of telling you to keep still. Now, why don't you hold your wife while I insert the potassium chloride?”

Jonathan felt her begin to tremble. She was awake, completely lucid, and terrified.

Suddenly Christian jumped at the sound of a buzz-ing noise.

“Damn you, you bitch!”

He ripped the call button from Elizabeth's hand.

“Too late, Hunter. Too late.”

Jonathan jerked his head toward the door. Christian momentarily shifted his attention, and Jonathan jumped at him. He was entangled in the bedcovers.

Elizabeth jerked the IV needle out of her arm and stumbled from the bed. The two men were rolling about on the floor, entangled in the covers.

She saw Christian's gun, and wondered blankly where he'd gotten another one. His had gone into the ocean with him. She saw Jonathan gain a firm grip on his gun hand, jerk it above his head, and smash it against the floor.

Christian jerked his hand free and pressed the gun against Jonathan's throat.

Elizabeth very calmly grabbed his hair and yanked with all her strength. As Christian yelled and his gun hand came up, she raised her foot and smashed his hand against the floor.

He yelled again and the gun skittered across the floor.

Jonathan's hands were around his throat, squeezing.

Gurgling sounds. Obscene gurgling sounds.

Then she saw Christian raise the hand that held the needle. He was bringing it down toward Jonathan's back.

“Jonathan, watch his hand!”

She saw the hand disappear between the men. They rolled over, just once. She heard a sharp intake of breath.

The outside door burst open. Homer Peabody stood silhouetted in the harsh corridor light.

“Do something!”

Homer drew his gun and stared.

Elizabeth heard pounding, running footsteps.

She heard a scream.

“Jonathan,” she whispered, and threw herself to her knees, trying to get to Christian's face.

Suddenly Jonathan drew up. He was breathing hard.

Elizabeth looked down to see the needle sticking out of Christian's heart.

His eyelids flickered a moment, and he was staring up at her. He said nothing. Then his eyes rolled and his body jerked.

It was then that Homer Peabody jerked Jonathan away, pointed his gun at Hunter, and yelled, “Halt or I'll shoot!”

But Christian Hunter didn't do anything.

He was dead.

 

“That was Catherine,” Jonathan said, and hung up the phone. “Laurette Carleton died.”

Elizabeth gingerly shifted her arm in its sling and rose. She saw Kogi standing in the doorway to the living room, waiting for her to ask for something, anything. She merely waved him away with her good hand.

“The funeral will be on Friday.”

“Odd, but I think I want to go,” said Elizabeth. “That poor bitter old woman.”

“She had her guns aimed at the wrong person. Sit back down, love, and rest.”

“You and Kogi,” Elizabeth said on a sigh, but she sat back down on the sofa.

“On Saturday you and I, Mrs. Harley, are flying to
Montego Bay. I've decided I want to see you with some sexy tan lines.”

“Sounds like a wonderful plan to me,” Elizabeth said. “But . . .”

“But what?”

“My business, your business, everything . . .”

“Why don't you meet with Adrian, Coy, and Rod and all the rest of the gang, and I'll do the same with my cohorts. We need to get away. The press is having another field day and I'm tired of flashbulbs going off in my face. It's giving me premature wrinkles.”

He walked to the sofa and eased down beside her. “When we get bored making love in Montego Bay, we can discuss what we're going to do about everything. Okay?”

“Sounds like another good plan, and I have no more buts.”

“Excellent. Now, pucker up.”

She did. Just before she closed her eyes, she saw the newspaper Kogi had slipped onto the coffee table. Her picture was on the front, and the headline read:
ELIZABETH X CLEARED
.

“Jonathan, look.”

He gave a deep sigh and watched her. She read a moment then turned to face him. “A verdict of not guilty just isn't the same, you know, as ‘cleared.' Cleared is like being scrubbed clean and everyone told about it. There's even a statement from Moretti.”

“He probably wants you to back him in his next election.”

She laughed. For the first time in so long her head was filled with exhilarating glorious music. Her fingers played the song that was in her mind. It took Jonathan a few moments to realize that Elizabeth's tapping fingers were playing music on his shoulder blade.

“Beethoven?”

She grinned at him. “Nope. That's ‘Happy Days Are Here Again.”'

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

 

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